Buffalo Hearts—forSylvia
If I have to shoot the buffalo–
tear off its skin
share its heart–
Could I do it?
I picture my arm
raising up
to shoot an arrow.
Where does it go–
a target fastened to hay.
Can I let my arrow fly
like a bird
bringing a victim down,
pluck feathers
and roast it
over a fire.
Hunger does strange things
to people.
Putting
the worm on the hook
I knick my finger
many times.
Fish gasp to breath
jerking
as you remove the hook.
My grandparents
had a chicken farm
and had known hunger.
I don’t remember it all.
But, my grandmother
plucked chickens
and even their feet
went in her soup.
I remember her
gnawing on them.
She was a wonderful woman
and even when wealthy
wore unglamorous soft cotton dresses
with small flowers–
dresses that buttoned
down the front
and wore an apron over them.
Down the street
at the corner
was the fish market
fish laid out in irridesence.–
the whole blocked smelled
of them.
I loved eating fish
but ate meat more.
The butcher shop
was a few doors down
between the fish store
and my grandparents shop
for butter and eggs.
My grandmother
put the meat through a grinder
and the squiggles came out.
The cows in the next door
farm that I used to go over to
during the summer
and what was coming out
and being patted and shaped
into meatloaf
in our home in the city
had no connection
in my mind.
The chickens were Kosher.
You wanted Kosher chickens.
I never knew what Kosher meant.
In Russia, for generations,
people drank and
raised their glasses
to the war dead.
One did not quibble
over killing chickens
or slaughtering cows.
You were happy to eat.
Do people do that here–
raise a glass to those
who died in 9/11.
I wonder if they did that
after the civil war
or the riots during the 60’s.
I wonder about the children
watching death on T.V,
playing war games.–
Engaged
with all their senses,
the enemy is smitten.
What a rush.
and they don’t know
the words
Kosher or not Kosher,
so the kid gets shot
in the school hallway.
In the distance
birds are screeching.
in the forest,
a deer falls uneaten
and the buffalo heart
is not passed around.